


makes up excuses for throbbing black bruises

by y9gurt (rydellon)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Spoilers for Quackity's March 17th Stream, oh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 02:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydellon/pseuds/y9gurt
Summary: “God, Dream,” Quackity sighs, readjusting the axe in his hand as potions rain down on him from the void above.“You’re such a shit friend.”Or,what we didn't see on the first day.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Clay | Dream
Kudos: 28





	makes up excuses for throbbing black bruises

**Author's Note:**

> ill update a nod and a wave soon!! i just....kept thinking abt this then i saw a tiktok n had to write something based off of it haha....bit short but its cool
> 
> title from thermodynamic lawyer, esq, g.f.f. will wood and the tapworms (which is coincidentally about abuse...ill probably pull titles from it more often)
> 
> also ive been made aware that cc!dream isnt comfortable with heavy gore, so this is a bit toned down (and therefore shorter) than what it was, whoops.
> 
> for pax!!

Quackity leans down against the wall.

He’s exhausted, but that’s to be expected from him and anything that takes large amounts of physical activity. Even though he’d been spending the last few weeks—months even—doing gruelling physical activity. He’d learnt the hard way that long days of swinging his pickaxe and gathering materials had unfortunately given him muscles but not stamina. His shirt was rolled up to his elbows and barely fit over his biceps (it had been fitted before Las Nevadas was even started, but in his foolishness he hadn’t been thinking about physical labour) but he would still pant if he had to run anything over a few meters.

He decides that leaning isn't enough, sliding down so that he’s squatting slightly on the floor. He doesn’t really want to sit on the floor, doesn’t want the crying obsidian residue—or anything else—on his pants.

“Y’know, I’m exhausted,” he says, leaning his head back onto the stone. 

He looks to the side, eyes scouring the walls around him.

“This place you have is…nice. But what I’ve been doing…” he trails off. “Only Bad’s seen it, and Jack almost saw it, but I turned him away. It wasn’t complete then, but Bad’s seen it complete. And Schlatt I guess, but he…” Quackity trails off.

He thinks about Schlatt. About that fucking gym he has near L’Manberg. Just thinking about that place makes his ass and thighs burn, even though he hasn’t been in his squatting position for that long.

“He doesn’t matter.”

He tightens his grips on the axe and sword that he’s holding, glancing briefly at each and looking at the names floating above, flickering in and out of his view as he looks at each of them one at a time.

“These things are fucking…fucking awesome,” he says, dropping the sword to the floor. He pulls the back of the axe up to his chest, steadying it and running his finger across the short blade. It doesn’t cut him. He thinks that maybe it should’ve.

“I’m glad Sam—the Warden, that is—gave them to me. I’m so glad.” He can feel the shears pressing against his pocket uncomfortably. He hates the feeling, but they’d helped. They’d helped well enough.

“If I was you, I’d probably call this something fucking stupid like divine retribution.”

He picks the sword back up, and shoves it back into his inventory, and flips the axe around in his hand. It shines in the light of the lava, and Quackity is suddenly hyper aware of the sweat running down his face. It’s hot in here, sweltering even. Quackity can barely spend half an hour in here, he can’t imagine any amount of time over that.

“Y’know, I’m gonna go on a rant for a sec, ‘cuz I…’cuz I fuckin’ want to, that’s why.” He sighs, sparing a glance at his companion.

He knocks his head up against the wall a few times, the hits cushioned by his beanie. His lip pulls up in a smirk, and he can feel the scar on his face pull alongside it. It’s a horrible feeling, and he hates it, but the only thing that makes it ok is the phantom feeling of Karl’s thumb pulling over his lips. The ghost of Sapnap’s fingertips running over his eyelids.

“I’m…tired. I’ve been working for days, weeks, fuckin’  _ months _ , and I haven’t…I haven’t seen  _ them  _ at all. At  _ all _ .” He slams his fist up against the wall. “And…it’s not totally their fault, I’ve been gone as well, I’m just…tired.”

He stands up from his position, his knees creaking as he leaves the position he’s been in for the past few minutes. 

“I’m tired of this fucking job, I’m tired of fucking  _ Schlatt _ , I’m just…I’m not happy. I thought that this money shit would make me happy, but it’s fucking not. It’s fucking not and I hate it. Sapnap and Karl are off froliking off in their fucking mushroom kingdom, together, and I’m here, alone. Did they not want to invite me? Did they…do they not want me there?”

Quackity pulls his communicator out of his pocket and types out a message out to Sam, heading over to the corner of the cell as instructed.

“I guess I could just ask them…what do you think?”

It’s quiet as Quackity gazes at the dead body on the floor of the cell, Dream’s eyes wide, green, and unseeing as blood pools under his head, new scars lining the ones that had been hidden under the mask he had shattered earlier. 

The body doesn’t give Quackity an answer as he hears Sam’s voice come out of the communicator, confirming that he’s in the corner.

“God, Dream,” Quackity sighs, readjusting the axe in his hand as potions rain down on him from the void above.

“You’re such a shit friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey man i have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/y9gurt)


End file.
